Chapter 4: Live Wire

Dean finished refilling the Impala's gas tank and walked back to the car, thanking a Mr. J. R. Selkca for the unsolicited use of his credit card.

"Why do you have so many plastic spoons in your car?" Kate asked, grimacing at all the random things scattered about the backseat.

A big grin broke across Dean's face. "You don't wanna know." He drove eastward for a bit before asking, "Who's Charna?"

Kate arched one long, thin eyebrow, almost amused by Dean's genuine curiosity over something so trivial. "Charna was a vampire who had most of his guts clawed out in a fight, but he carried on fighting and won the battle. Today, when you're suitably riled, you say 'Charna's guts!' It's the same as 'bloody hell' or 'I'll be damned' or 'stone the crows.'"

"Stone the crows?" Dean said skeptically.

"I've been alive longer than you. Trust me, it used to be a popular saying," Kate said.

"Huh." Then suddenly, Dean shouted, "Charna's guts!" He slammed down on the brakes.

Kate turned to glare at Dean, but instead, her eyes fell upon the funeral home in front of which Dean had stopped. The door had been kicked down and just barely hung from its hinges, one of the windows was cracked, and shouting and growling could be heard inside.

"C'mon!" Dean said, getting out of the car to sprint toward the building.

"This isn't a part of our deal!" Kate shouted as she got out of the car.

"No, but it might interest you. That funeral home is run by a werewolf," Dean said.

A look of confusion settled on Kate's face, but she followed Dean nonetheless.

As soon as Dean and Kate were inside, they could see that the damage to the building had been done by a werewolf, but surprisingly, that werewolf was not Adam Hel, for he was backed up against the far wall. He had a large gash bleeding on the side of his head and was completely defenseless against the werewolf that was advancing on him.

"Where is that little monster?" the werewolf growled. "He's a murderer, Hel, and there's no use hiding him!"

"I don't know where he is!" Hel shouted back. "You don't know what you're talking about! You're crazy!"

Dean vaguely wondered who the werewolf was, but then he remembered Sam's vision. He pointed his gun at the werewolf and said, "Hey! Caine!"

Surprised to hear his name, the werewolf turned to face Dean.

Dean patted his gun. "Silver bullets, okay? Now, just calm down—"

Caine lunged at Kate, but Dean jumped in front of her and cocked his gun. "Steady, now," he said in a calm voice. "Besides she probably won't taste so good."

Dean noticed Caine's nostrils flaring. "Vampire!" he growled accusingly at Kate.

"Give the dog a bone," Kate drawled, stepping next to Dean.

"What're you doing? Get back," Dean hissed.

"Cute. My knight in… a leather jacket," Kate said bluntly. "You don't need to protect me from him. I can drink his blood, but vampire blood is poisonous to him. That's why he's so angry I'm a vampire."

"But you won't make a snack out of him, right?" Dean said, raising his eyebrows. "You promised."

"Sad, but true," Kate sighed.

"That's a good song," Dean said matter-of-factly. A growl from Caine pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. "Okay, Caine, Adam Hel isn't the murderer—"

"I know he's not the murderer!" Caine shouted. "It's that kid he's been towing along with him!"

"Garmr?" Dean made a face. "That kid wouldn't hurt a fly. Probably because he's never looking up long enough to actually see a fly. And besides, I've seen his eyes. They're green. He's not a werewolf."

"Ha!" Caine barked. "This would be easy if he were a mere werewolf. But directly after the second murder, I caught him draining the victim's body of its blood—"

"Garmr?" Dean asked again, still unable to believe the shy boy he'd clipped earlier this evening could possibly be a murderer.

"He caught me spying on him, and when he turned around, his eyes were yellow!" Caine hissed.

This banished any doubts Dean had. Yellow eyes. There was only one type of creature he'd come across that had yellow eyes. "What happened then?"

"I told him I was going to turn him in, but he said not to, and the next thing I know, Abel's dead!" Caine howled.

Dean considered this information for a long while. It was so improbable to nail Garmr as the murderer, but everything pointed to such a verdict. Neither the werewolves nor the vampires were behind the murders, and all markings on the victims proved that. Garmr seemed like a nervous, insecure person, and furthermore, it seemed he had amnesia—a perfect chink in the armor for possession. And lastly, Sam having a vision proved that a demon, if not the demon, was involved in this. Why else would this thing be interested in Sam?

Dean felt his heart rate pick up. Sam was in more danger than he had imagined. He had to hurry.

Dean eyed the computer perched on the edge of the front desk. "Does that thing have Internet?" he asked.

"Yeah," Hel said warily.

Dean was about to cross the room to get to the computer when he eyed Caine. "Isn't there a way to turn him off?"

"What do you mean?" Hel asked.

"I mean I don't feel like being eaten by a werewolf when I'm not looking."

"You won't have to worry about that," Caine answered. "The… method I used to transform only changes my physical appearance for the time being, but my mental state is still the same as that of a human."

Dean looked at Hel, who nodded to confirm what Caine had said.

"Okay, just, everybody stay," Dean commanded. "And no one accidentally eat anyone," he said, eyeing Kate. He walked over to the computer and accessed one of the government-controlled websites he and Sam had hacked into once. "I think Garmr's possessed, and I think it might be the same demon who pitched that deal to you guys," Dean said to the werewolves. "What's his last name again?"

"Medgard," Hel replied.

"Wait a minute. What deal?" Kate asked.

Hel explained the specifics of the bargain, and Kate glared at Dean. "You tricked me!"

"I did," Dean concurred as his fingers rapidly moved across the keyboard.

"You don't even have to do anything to get rid of the werewolves!" Kate shouted.

"All you said was you wanted me to get rid of the werewolves. Well, you find Sam, we find Garmr, and we get rid of the werewolves. Everybody's happy—! Dude!" Dean suddenly exclaimed, staring at the screen.

Hel walked over to see what had surprised Dean. They were looking at the profile of one Garmr Medgard. All the stats seemed to match up except for one tiny little detail: Garmr Medgard had been killed in a train explosion twelve years ago.

"The demon's possessing a dead body?" Kate asked after Dean had explained Garmr's profile. "Is that possible?"

"Yeah, it is," Dean said. "It's pretty complicated, though. It's easy enough to control a dead shell, but to actually put yourself inside one and have it pass as an actual human requires a pretty badass player."

"So how do we kill it?" Caine asked.

"Like you kill any restless spirit. You salt the remains and torch the sucker," Dean replied. "The tricky part is the Garmr we know is what remains of him. He probably won't sit still while we try and salt and burn him, but I guess we'll have to figure out a way to hold him still when that time comes. Let's go," he said to Kate.

"Where are you going?" Hel asked.

Dean glared at Hel, the person who had put Sam in this danger in the first place. "To get my brother back."

"I'm coming, too," Hel said. "I need to make sure Garmr—this demon—is going to keep his end of the bargain."

Dean couldn't believe Hel still wasn't sorry for what he had done to Sam. Selfish bastard.

"Count me in as well," Caine suddenly said. "I can't get my own brother back, but I can help stop his killer."

Dean examined Caine. It was really strange to hear him speak so civilly while he was in his wolf suit. "Fine, but you're not getting in my car unless you wanna pay to have it vacuumed."

"We need to move. Now." Kate was sniffing the air. "Your brother's scent is stationary."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"He kept traveling further and further east, but his scent is stable now. He's not moving."

Dean's eyes filled with worry. "He's not moving?" He swallowed, trying very hard not to think of the worst. "Dead people don't move," Dean whispered almost inaudibly.

Kate rolled her eyes, her increased hearing picking up what Dean had said. "Stop being such a drama queen. If your brother were dead he wouldn't be giving off any sort of scent at all, so this is a good thing. He's stopped moving, which means we can make the most of our time and get to him quicker." And then I can feast on you both.

Dean exhaled an enormous sigh of relief, and in under a minute, he, Kate, and Hel sat in the Impala, and Caine loped alongside the car as they sped off into the dead of the night.

x x x

"Sam… Sam, can you hear me? Wake up."

Sam struggled to lift his eyelids, but they were too heavy. His brain felt like it was filled with cotton, and a welt at the nape of his neck made his head hurt. Again, he tried to open his eyes; his lids were lighter now. The room slowly swam into focus. It was so white, almost blinding. The air was cold. He coughed. His mouth was bone dry, his tongue a thick piece of sandpaper. There was a bandage around his arm… a needle underneath. There were wires connected to all parts of his body.

"Sam, can you hear me?"

Sam turned to face the voice and saw Garmr leaning over him, observing him with wide yellow eyes. He was smiling. Sam started to smile back, but then he stopped. Something was wrong, though he couldn't quite remember what it was. It danced on the edge of his mind just out of reach. He wished his brother were—

Everything from the last twenty-four hours suddenly came into place and Sam realized where he was. He tried to get up, but soon discovered that his arms and legs were strapped to the chair in which he sat. He tried to move his limbs against the leather restraints, but his efforts were fruitless. "What—" he coughed. His voice was weak.

Garmr walked over with a glass of liquid. "Drink this."

Sam was in no position to resist as the glass was pushed against his lips and the contents tipped down his throat. Luckily, it was water. It flowed down his dry throat like an icy current, and Sam greedily welcomed it, not caring as streams of water rolled down his chin as well.

"Better?" Garmr asked when all the water was gone.

"What do you want with me—AHHH!" Sam shouted, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Amazing how painful a shock to your left pinkie can be, hmm?" Garmr grinned cheerfully. "Let that serve as a warning. You will speak when spoken to. Although I won't blame you for your crude behavior. After all, you never had a mommy to teach you otherwise."

Sam's temples reddened as he began to shake and jump and move around as much as he could in the chair, but not for long. He felt a shock to his right ear, and it didn't stop until he forced himself to calm down.

"Good boy," Garmr said, pleased. "You learn quick. And to reward you, I suppose I'll answer your question. You see, we have plans for you, Sammy. For you and all the other children like you. But we need to know more about your powers if we are to use them to our full advantage. Right now, it seems your powers only perk up when our demon overlord does something or commands something or causes something, as we found out since you had a vision about one of the werewolves here. But the point, for you, at least, is to basically be able to see any aspect of the future, and to eventually control the future."

Sam's eyes widened. This was crazy. Impossible, even.

"Excited, are you?" Garmr asked. "Then let's get started!" He walked over to a lab table stationed to Sam's right. He lifted a vial of clear solution to eye level, shook it a bit, eyed it again, then walked over to the machine that connected to all the tubes that were poking into Sam's skin to make sure it was working properly. "This is a little concoction I've prepared for you," he said, holding up the vial. "We've been monitoring you. Bet you didn't know that, hmm?"

Sam didn't say anything, afraid of being shocked again.

"It seems that your visions are most vibrant when you're awake, with your eyes—" Garmr grabbed Sam's head and attached it to an apparatus that jutted out from the top of the chair. Then he sharply pulled back on Sam's eyelids, but when he let go, Sam's eyelids remained pulled back, held in place by a pair of forceps. "—Are open," Garmr finished. "Your visions are strongest when your eyes are open."

Sam's eyes began to dry up, but when that happened, a liquid would drop onto the surfaces of his eyes, moistening them. He wondered how long it would take to train himself not to blink anymore.

"This is just a test," Garmr said, explaining the procedure as though he were a normal doctor. "It takes about ten minutes for this to get through your system, and once the process is complete, you should be able to see into the future. Into every future."

Sam's forehead creased in confusion.

Garmr read Sam's thoughts. "Yes, there is more than one future, as you will soon find out." With that, he poured the vial of solution into one of the tubes and watched as it traveled into Sam's body. A couple minutes later, Sam's vision began to ebb and he began to see things that weren't there.

He saw himself headbutt Garmr, watched Garmr fall on the controls that locked his restraints in place, then watched himself get out of the chair and run out of the room. Then he watched himself headbutt Garmr again, but this time when Garmr fell, he fell on the operating table and was speared by the tools that lay on it, although it didn't harm Garmr since he was possessed. Sam watched himself headbutt Garmr again, and this time he saw himself lose his consciousness from the force of the impact.

Suddenly, Sam was pulled out of his thoughts as he received a shock to his right leg.

"Miraculous, isn't it?" Garmr smiled warmly. "But I can't have you see a way out of this. Escape is what you're thinking of right now, isn't it?"

Sam didn't say anything. His head was spinning from the last shock.

"Just to ensure your mind doesn't wander until I want it to wander," Garmr said, adjusting the dials on the machine next to him, "I'll continue the shock therapy for the remaining seven minutes."

Every few seconds, Sam felt an electric shock to one of his appendages. Usually it was a finger or a nipple, but sometimes it was… lower. Most of the shocks were just that—shocking—although a few were quite painful. Sam's heart raced. His muscles refused to unclench, waiting for the next jolt.

His mind kept trying to see into the future, but the shocks prevented him from doing so. If the shocks weren't so painful, his vision switching back and forth from seeing the present and trying to see the future would definitely have left him disoriented enough.

Sam sensed that the seven minutes were nearly finished when the pressure from the tube of incoming fluid slowly began to decrease.

He felt tired, beaten, half crazed, and scared out of his wits. But beneath it all, he was determined. Then he got a shock to his scrotum, which eclipsed everything else.

Garmr walked over. "Sam, can you hear me?"

Sam made a gurgling noise as his big toe received a shock. "Yes," he gasped.

"What's today's date?"

"It's, umm…" Sam tried to remember. His nausea intensified. "I think it's…AAAAHH!" His right hand had received a shock. "It's…um, July… July…"

"Close enough," Garmr said in a mocking tone. "All right. I'm going to stop the torture in a little while. But first, listen closely, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said weakly. Anything. Sam would do anything for this man if he'd make it stop, if only for a minute. Or a second.

"I'm overloading your system because I don't want you to get away," Garmr explained again. "And if you get away, I might have to go after another, more easily attainable Winchester. Like your brother."

Sam thought he was going to vomit. He wanted to close his eyes and make it all go away, but he couldn't. His lids strained uselessly against the forceps, burning with pain.

"Sam." Garmr lightly slapped Sam's face. "I know it's hard, but stay with me. As long as you work with me, nothing bad will happen to Dean. All right?"

Sam realized, belatedly, that it was his turn to talk. "Okay," he croaked.

"Good." Garmr turned away, walking out of Sam's field of vision, and a moment later, the shocks ceased. Sam tried to relax, but his muscles wouldn't obey—every tendon was as taut as a piano wire. His heart hammered in his ears, pumping blood to his muscles in anticipation of more pain.

Sam took a deep breath, held it for a second, and then exhaled through his nose. Gradually, everything else fell into place. His heart slowed and he was able to unclench his jaw. He was okay.

Suddenly, Sam's body was consumed with a pain unlike anything he'd ever felt, tearing through every part in his body. And then, just as quickly as it had descended upon him, it was gone. Sam clamped his mouth shut, biting his tongue, tasting blood. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was close his eyes. Sam caught his breath after a minute, then slowly unclenched his teeth.

"Sorry about that, Sam," Garmr said. "I just needed to remind you that even though the torture has ceased, I still have electrodes attached to your body. Some deliver quite painful shocks, some read your heart rate and other bioelectric signals." He pointed to a wire. "This tells me whether you're lying. And if you lie," Garmr trailed off.

Sam felt his muscles clench again, ready for another shock, but it didn't come.

Garmr chuckled. "If you lie, I'll know it, and then you'll know it. So do me a favor and cooperate. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Sam rasped. His voice was ripped and torn from his earlier screams. He wondered what it would sound like after another few hours.

"Excellent!" Garmr chirped. He walked over to Sam and placed a coin in his palm. "I want you to flip the coin, and I want you to make it land heads up."

"How?" Sam asked.

"With your mind," Garmr said. He used his fingers to close Sam's hand. "Focus on the objective and make it happen."

Sam swallowed, unsure of what he was doing, but as soon as he began to think about the coin in his hand, he suddenly saw how to make it land heads up.

There was a slight current in the air from the vents—it was almost imperceptible, but Sam could see it moving the oxygen and nitrogen molecules this way and that. The coin was a quarter, and the heads side was 0.00128 grams heavier than the tails side. The periphery of the pattern on the heads side was also larger and less aerodynamic than the tails side. But these factors were trivial when compared to the force of his fingers and the torque he applied to his cuffed wrist, which were collectively responsible for 98.756 percent of the coin's trajectory, although the trajectory was only 58.24510 percent responsible for whether the coin came up heads or tails.

To fully understand the causes of the outcome, Sam analyzed the makeup of the coin (the core was 100 percent copper; the face was a 75 percent/25 percent copper-nickel alloy) as well as of the floor (thirty-six-square-inch linoleum tiles). These two factors accounted for 37.84322 percent of the coin's final outcome. Another 0.55164 percent stemmed from their proximity to the magnetic poles, 1.12588 percent from the speed of the earth's rotation, and 2.23415 percent from the cleanliness of the floor.

The remaining 0.00001 percent was noise—if there were 100,000 coin flips, Sam would miss only once. He took all this information into consideration, selected an appropriate path, and—

Sam flicked his index and middle fingers upward and launched the coin into the air. He watched it tumble through space, the light playing across the two faces. Light, dark, heads, tails. When it landed on the floor, there was a light smack and then a ching, ching, ching, brrrrrrrrm as it bounced, bounced, bounced and rattled to a stop somewhere outside his field of vision.

Garmr hurried over to where it landed. When he picked it up, he was smiling.

"Fifty-fifty chance," Sam said, as much to Garmr as to himself. "It doesn't prove anything."

"True," Garmr said, with excitement. "But if this coin landed on heads another forty-nine times, I think it would. Please continue."

Garmr dropped the coin into Sam's shackled hand. Again, Sam closed his eyes, but this time he barely needed to search for the right branch. It came to him easily. Again, he flicked up his fingers. Again, the coin flew through the air and bounced onto the floor.

Again, it was heads.

"Again," Garmr commanded.

Drop. Flip. Glint. Land. Bounce.

Another flip. Another heads. And then another. And another. And another. Heads. Heads. Heads. In between flips, Sam found his consciousness slipping away, but each time, Garmr woke him up with a quick jolt. He was also punished every time he tried to look into the future to find a way to escape. He stopped after the shock from his second attempt.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, they were done. Sam was dizzy and bathed in sweat, but he forced himself to look at Garmr after he flipped the fiftieth head in as many tries. Garmr's smile slid from his face, briefly replaced by another emotion.

It was hunger.

"Incredible," Garmr finally murmured. "I think it's time to make this a permanent part of your genetic make-up. Our demon overlord shall be very pleased, indeed." He began to pick up bottles and used eyedroppers to add drops of this and that to the test tube with which he was working, but suddenly, his head jerked up as if he sensed something. He stood frozen for a bit, but a moment later he was moving again. "Your brother's coming for you," Garmr said matter-of-factly as he closed all the open vials before him.

Sam felt his heart soar. Whether or not Garmr was lying didn't matter because even the false hope of Dean coming to rescue him was enough to assuage all the fears from his current predicament.

Garmr walked across the room, grabbed a syringe, and poked it into Sam's arm without warning.

"Sleep," Garmr said. "Paul, watch him."

A guard with glowing red eyes, presumably Paul, walked into the room. Sam briefly thought about how odd and funny it was that Garmr—the demon—should have a guard named Paul. Then he began to think about how cool it would be to fall asleep with his eyes wide open.

As his consciousness drifted away, he wasn't able to think about much else. He felt Paul remove the forceps from his eyelids, and his lids were so heavy they immediately closed shut.

The last thing Sam heard was Garmr whispering into his ear. "You'll have to excuse me for a bit. I need to go take care of your brother."

Author's Note: Thanks to Darren Shan's Cirque du Freak series for the "Charna's guts!" phrase and to Adam Fawer's Improbable for the quarter-flip sequence. And I also apologize for what I did to Sammy. Believe it or not, I'm actually a Sammy girl, lol! Anyway, next chapter will be up shortly. :) And thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing!